The Doomed and Hectic Lives of Being Sixteen and In Love
by RenaRoo
Summary: They're superheroes. They're teenagers. They're beyond compare. They're crippled by the pressures of fitting in. They're a stereotype of themselves, but for Traci Thirteen, Natasha Irons, and Mia Kent at the end of the day the most normal part of their day can end up being not normal. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. CirxNatxTraci. Sapphic September: Sleepover


A short one for today! But it revolves around one of my always-in-need-of-love OT3′s from the SuperFamily, that of Mia, Natasha, and Traci. There's a big part of me that will always wish that _Superman: Supergirls_ had been continued on and these three explored to their fullest, but at least I'll always have fanfics.

Superman and related characters © DC Comics  
story © RenaRoo

 **The Doomed and Hectic Lives of Being Sixteen and In Love**

There was an argument about whether or not to make cookies or to buy them. Fresh cookies were optimal, but time consuming, and so the argument was a well founded one. At least, an argument in the simplest of senses in that they all agreed on the outcome and less so on the responsibilities. Or, rather, whether any of them even possessed enough domesticity to truly be responsible for feeding the group.

"Cooking is basically just science," Mia attempted to argue first, going for what was simple and obvious at least to her own mind. "And Nat's the scientist, so it's _got_ to be her cooking."

"Cooking is like _chemistry_ and I'm an _engineer_ at heart," Natasha argued, sliding the bowl of ingredients toward Mia once again.

"Right, that's what I'm saying," Mia continued.

"They're different types of science," Natasha clarified. "I would rather _build_ an oven than _use_ one."

"You may have to," Traci spoke up, sitting on the counter with her familiar, Leroy, crawling over her shoulder. "I warned you guys about us doing this at _my_ place! I don't have regular appliances. They take be up too much room and apartment space is _crazy_ hard to find in the city. So I just _magic_ everything up."

Mia floated just enough off the ground to make a point of it, her fingers entangled behind her back as she stretched cutely. "Why don't you just do that with the cookies? That sounds _much_ quicker."

"I refuse to eat magic cookies," Natasha said firmly, hands on her hips. "My Uncle John has told me a thousand times to not put anything in my mouth that I don't know _exactly_ where it's from. Especially on a date night. And if we ever get this _started,_ it'll be a date night."

"If we're going to all be weird about it, why not just order a pizza with those molten brownie things?" Traci asked. "Pretty sure the delivery boy knows my apartment by heart after how many times I've answered the door in just a sleeping shirt."

"That should've been the way you answered the door for _us_ then, I think we're being cut short," Mia joked just before Natasha made a point of pushing the bowl toward her again. "I don't see why you both think _I'm_ some chef or something."

"You're the daughter of _Superman_. The daughter of _Clark Kent_ , the biggest farm boy ever," Traci pointed out. "It's like… _genetic_ that country bumpkins cook better."

"And Clark _definitely_ can cook," Natasha pointed out. "I've been taken to enough barbecues at this point to be able to know."

Mia scrunched her face and sat in the air, levitated as she puffed out her lip. "I wasn't, like, _pulled from Superman's side_ or something, you know. I'm not _just_ the daughter of Clark Kent."

"Yeah? So?" Traci raised her brow.

"Have you ever seen _Lois Lane_ cook?" Mia asked, immediately getting recoils. "So if we _are_ assuming that cooking's genetic, I have about a fifty-fifty chance of making the absolute best cookies ever with minimal effort, or created a dough monster that gives everybody indigestion."

"That's better than _zero chance_ and _magic,"_ Natasha argued.

"Hey!" Traci called out. "Without magic, ladies, just how are we supposed to _bake_ the cookies anyway? Like I've said five million times already, I don't have any kitchen stuff except a sink and a fridge!"

"We already have the ingredients out, Traci!" Natasha pointed out.

"It's okay, guys, we'll heat the cookies up the same way I shave my legs!" Mia explained gleefully, immediately earning looks of slight horror from the other two. Her lilac eyes were suddenly lost behind a familiar red glow that made them both cringe.

"Okay, definitely no. That's gross," Natasha said simply.

"No it's not, that's almost _always_ how my dad cooks," Mia argued.

"And now Kent cookouts are ruined for me forever," Traci yawned as she stretched. "Can I call the pizza and molten chocolate brownie mountain in already?"

Natasha let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "The movies always make sleepovers seem amazing. How come we plan _one_ sleepover and can't even get a meal right?"

"Lack of magic," Traci teased, reaching for her cellphone.

"Natasha, we're sixteen!" Mia reminded her, flying over to he side. "We're _supposed_ to be terrible at planning things out. Be short sighted. Make memories. Make mistakes."

"Sleepovers are now categorized under _mistakes_. How's that for organization?" Traci joked, sticking out her tongue as she waited on the line.

"This date night thing is definitely a mistake," Natasha sighed. "We should've been normal and… like… done a movie, or dinner out or _anything_ that would be more romantic instead of ordering in pizza and getting ready to watch Buffy on Netflix."

" _Re_ watch Buffy on Netflix," Traci corrected before Leroy jumped to the counter at the same time Traci jumped down to the floor and began walking out of the kitchen. "Hi, this is Traci Thirteen. I need to place an order…"

Looking more and more beleaguered, Natasha closed her eyes and put a hand against her face. "Damn," she whispered to herself.

"Nat… if you really wanted to do all that stuff, why didn't you just say so before?" Mia asked, hovering just by her shoulder. "I _love_ the idea of having a fun date night in with you and Traci, but if it's not what you wanted…"

"I want it," Natasha sighed. "I _also_ want to be able to regular date stuff… regular date stuff without being _scared._ Scared that when people see us together, see us in love… that they're gonna know we're not… _normal."_

Seemingly caught off guard. Mia blinked before dropping down to her feet again. "Oh," was all she said softly.

"That's selfish," Natasha admitted, lowering her head. "I know it is. But… I've gone my whole life being stared at — some Southside girl straight outta the Suicide Slum is in the Metropolis School of Engineering? And she's got braids and doesn't care to make friends anymore. But she finally has people she loves as much as if not more than family, and _look out_. She's a lesbian! In a relationship with _two girls_ at the same time. Even if they're the most beautiful, powerful ladies in all of the city. Even if they make every day together feel like the best day of her life… the idea of being seen and _known_ in public makes me want to throw up. So I'm disappointed we're inside tonight, but it's not because of cookies or because I thought we should have gone out. It's because I would want the world to know how happy I am now if I wasn't such a chicken."

Natasha had hardly finished her words when Mia flung herself at her and hugged her tight and close.

"We love you, too, Nat," Mia assured her. "And we're all scared, because we're _all_ not normal. And being ourselves in public has already been trained into us since, like, _birth_ to be something we shouldn't do. Secret identities and all that. But we'll figure it out. You guys keep me grounded — loving you's the most normal part of my day."

Traci walked through the door. "Pizza's ordered — hey! No one called me in for the hug!" Traci complained before lunging forward and wrapping her arms around both of her girlfriends in a tight squeeze. "What are we loving doving about? Is it because I was ordering pizza and you guys were thinking, wow, we're so lucky to have a girlfriend who can list off the number for _every_ pizza place in Metropolis by name?"

Natasha laughed, pulling her girls closer. "Something like that, Traci. Not exactly. But something like that."

Circled up, arms around each other, the girls held their foreheads together and just basked in the comfort of spending the night together with the people they loved.

And no matter how old they would get, there was no gesture that was felt more like pure love.


End file.
